Reality in Fiction
by CatBru
Summary: A character study, of sorts, of how fiction can so often get it wrong.


**Reality in Fiction**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. If I did, there would have been even more angst in Sailor Stars.

**Summary: **A character study, of sorts, of how fiction can so often get it wrong.

**Universe:** Sailor Moon Crystal (Well, as we're only to episode 11 on Hulu and I haven't read the manga in years, this may or may not be slightly near-future AUish.)

**Pairing:** Usagi/Mamoru

**AN:** I have moved since my last piece of Sailor Moon fiction. My desktop has pretty much been a useless paperweight since. So anything I was previously working on, if any, has been lost. With it, my inspiration. But this just came and wham. Here you go! (Also, this long piece of thoughts and introspection and blah tall takes place in less than an hour.)

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><p>Mamoru, despite his love for reading, had never been overly fond of Shakespeare. The translations he read either mutilated the iconic iambic pentameter or forced the rhythm to where nuance was lost. It was the one time he preferred the screen to pages, to hear the intended cadence as he absorbed the words printed over pale faces and antiquated clothing.<p>

It was because of Shakespeare he would be alone that evening. Or at least that was the basic gist he got from the phone call the night before as a ranting Usako grudgingly canceled their plans over the phone. Then, after a long and drawn out sigh her tone immediately changed as she asked about his day. And it was not the normal social platitudes, where questions of one's day followed quickly with other inane topics. She was genuinely curious, and her enthusiasm from his essay down to what he had had for lunch was...foreign.

So, despite the warmth still nestled in his gut from the phone call, Mamoru faced another evening of solitude. It was fine, being alone was something he was used to. And he could always study for that test that was three weeks away. Or maybe laundry. He only had enough socks to last the week, anyway.

This feeling of not knowing quite what to do was unusual. He spent plenty of time alone in his apartment and never seemed at a loss in his own space. Even nights he knew she was not coming over, which were more often than either would like, he still had a plan. But tonight the hours stretched before him.

He sighed and stared around his apartment. "I could clean under the refrigerator."

His own voice startled him and a moment later his hand came up to rub the back of his neck in annoyance. He used to arch an unimpressed eyebrow at men behaving as he was now.

A soft tap let a slight echo through the room. He stared at the front door a moment, the arched eyebrow curious. The small list of people he considered somewhat more than acquaintances were small and the only one who would not give notice had told him she would not be there. Add to that the knock was not her enthusiastic one left him with an infuriating puzzle as he padded toward the door.

If it was the landlady, it was not because his rent was overdue. That came out automatically from his account, along with other steady bills. Had someone locked themselves out of their own apartment? If so, he hoped it had not been after a shower. A toweled person, male _or_ female, was not on his agenda for the evening.

He opened the door, poised to say something, anything, before his jaw hinged shut. Mamoru was not sure which was more shocking, that the sullen knock belonged to Usako or that her eyebrows appeared to have developed a permanent crease between them.

"I thought Shakespeare was stealing you away from me tonight." It was a casual tone, one he had perfected over the years, but he had no doubt that in the near future she would be able to sense he was genuinely jealous of a dead author.

Her usual vibrant self gave a halfhearted hum as she walked in on sullen feet when he stood aside. It was not only her demeanor that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end, it was the added silence that ensued. He had never been good with _people,_ that was a gift she alone held in this relationship and despite the newness of it all he was perfectly fine with that. He just hated he was not yet good with _her. _She was extremes all the time, except for now, and it was something he did not know how to deal with.

Usako made no move to sit, or to look at him, or to alter her expression in any way. After a long and tense moment he forced his shoulders to relax. "Please have a seat."

His coffee cup had long since chilled, and she could probably do with a cocoa. At this moment he welcomed the busy work.

Mamoru picked his mug up from the low coffee table as she sat on the couch. The mug and remote were all that were on the smooth wood surface. Aside from a random vase of roses, every other surface was immaculate and clean. Immaculate and cold. For the first time since he could remember, especially with her sitting there and used to being surrounded by stuffed animals and pictures of family and friends and other assorted nick knacks, the barren scape of his apartment bothered him.

He picked up the remote and handed it to her, letting her know without words she did not seem to want to hear at the moment that she could turn on the television, click through channels until she found something she wanted to watch. She could watch cartoons for all he cared, and if it made her smile again he would have nothing but on his screen whenever she was there.

Mamoru left her on the couch and escaped to the relative sanctuary of his kitchen. The size was small, but it was efficient. Just like the rest of the place. As he set on the kettle he opened the cupboard. His fingers hesitated on the ceramic of the new mug, feeling foolish not for the first time for having bought it. Was it presumptuous? Or the impulsive buy he kept telling himself it was? The pink stood out among the blacks and greys of his other dishes, and the rabbit caricatures juxtaposed the clean lines and angles of what little decor he had. It was probably his favorite, just because he had gotten it for her.

He shook himself and cleared his throat as he pulled out the new mug. Washing it again, despite having done so shortly after coming home with it, he waited for the water to boil. A short time later he was spooning powder and sugar into appropriate mugs, giving her an extra scoop of cocoa than the directions specified. Then, making sure no one was looking, he added a scoop of cocoa to his own mug.

The kettle started to hiss and was screaming at him by the time he moved it from the stove eye. Mixing the drinks went on perhaps a little longer than it should, but he still was not sure how to be _her_ in this situation. She would know what to do, had seen her done it either for her friends or himself, bringing people out of a melancholy state with her own bright version of their self deprecating truth. He had seen so many sides to her, marveled at each and wondered just how many more she had, but this was one of the rare ones that hurt to see.

So to add a few more seconds to solve a puzzle he knew he would not, he pulled out two pieces of ice out of t he freezer and plopped one in each mug. He stirred as the cubes snapped and cracked into water. Then he was out of excuses.

The television sat still black. Usako was staring at the remote, feeling buttons and curves with fingers that, had he not known otherwise, would have left him to believe she had never seen one before. He had seen one on in her home, the night he had gone to get a slumbering girl to save her friends. The parents of the forlorn girl before him had looked like they belonged together, even half asleep though they were, and even now the memory of the scene scared him. _They_ scared him.

"Mamo-chan?" Her voice caused him to jerk, whether at having been found out to have been staring or just the shock of another voice after long minutes of silence he was not sure, and some coffee from his mug splattered on his hand. He hissed a little as his legs started working again. "Do you think _Romeo and Juliet_ is a love story?"

She still studied the remote, so he placed their mugs on the coffee table before sitting beside her, turned a little more toward her than he would other people and feeling foolish for it.

"No." That play was another reason he was not fond of Shakespeare. All around him girls would croon about the romance while the guys would groan in disgust, only to be caught later trying the lines on someone they fancied.

Her shoulders relaxed and the crease between her eyebrows eased. He picked up his mug and brought it to his lips, not drinking for a moment but just inhaling the aroma. The scent was familiar and safe. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Be careful. It's hot."

Mamoru took a sip of his coffee as he watched her. Would she like it? Think it was weird? Would she think he was pathetic? Would anyone notice if he added more cocoa to his coffee next time?

He swallowed another mouthful before placing his mug not far from hers and sat back on the couch. He would blame the warmness in his cheeks on the coffee if anyone ever asked.

Her eyes were wide and steady on his as he settled back, this time leaning against the cushions and forcing his muscles to relax. It was an impossible task the way she kept staring at him, and eventually all he could do was give her a slight shrug as the heat spread.

Her smile was as bright as her eyes and he suddenly found himself being tackled while sitting. Wiggling arms found a way between the cushion and his back until he was graced with an embrace so full he wondered if she did not have an extra pair of arms hidden somewhere. Her face nestled against his neck and he could feel the breath of her happy hum against his collar bone.

Hugs, yet another thing on a long list of things he was not used to. At least not this kind. There had been girls before, where they tried to dangle on him like ornaments before they would leave in a huff and an accusation of him being an emotionless automaton. There had been the arms that were supposed to be comforting as they tried to chase away the pain of a scraped knee or nightmare of children in the place he had lived before but even at a young age he had felt a disconnect from those wandering pairs of legs paid to care for children not their own. The closest he had ever gotten to anything resembling a genuine hug before her had been the platonic arm around his shoulders from the odd male classmate who was not put off by him.

Of course, by comparison, it was somewhat akin to having only ever seen ponds and thinking one knew what the ocean looked like before they saw the truth. And of course, that was also the sort of flowery thought he used to arch unimpressed eyebrows at other people for.

"It's so cute. I love it!" Usako pulled back and his hands, which had found awkward hold on her back almost tightened to keep her from leaving when she stopped a few inches back to look at him. "Do I take it home?"

His fingers splayed against her sides, strategically placed to be neither too high nor too low. Her skin was warm and soft even through her shirt. He wondered if he would get burned if he kept touching her.

"You could take it home. Or..." He glanced toward the kitchen. He knew which he would prefer, a colorful reminder in a sea of monotone that she was not a dream, but while he had made the purchase, he had bought it for _her _to keep.

"You mean I can keep it _here?"_ Her enthusiastic hug made him wonder how she would react if he got her something worth more than a painted lump of ceramic. Her lips against his cheek were brief though the warmth lingered.

Usako pulled away and picked up her mug, taking a savoring sip before brushing her lips against the rim. With a single noted giggle she placed the mug in his hand. "Hold this?"

Before he had time to guess what she was doing, her back leaned against his side, legs too long for someone so short swung onto the couch and she wiggled and snuggled against him, finding that perfect spot. He knew she found it at her happy sigh. She reached up and he went to hand her her mug before she shook her head and clasped her fingers around his wrist.

She brought his arm over her head and down until his forearm nestled against her stomach. After holding it there to make sure he would not pull it away, she reached up her hands and wiggled her fingers for the mug. He handed it over, fingertips a few degrees too warm so she could grab the handle. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His words were murmured against the bun closest to him, nose breathing in the scent of hair freshly washed and smelling of clean shampoo and little else. Her feet, covered only by thin white socks because his guest slippers were several sizes too large, wiggled and flexed as she enjoyed her cocoa.

Mamoru knew she was done when her limbs settled. She made no move to push him away, so he stayed as he was. Watching her even in this rare state of rest was by far more interesting than any other plan he had tried to make for the evening. Soon the only sound in his apartment was the ticking of the clock and her fingernails running a cadence along ceramic.

"They thought it was a romance." Usako sighed and this time it was not a happy one. "I'd _heard_ it was. But it isn't."

"I think it was always meant to be a tragedy." She held the cup on her knees and he reached over and pulled it away to set on the coffee table. It was awkward to do with her small weight refusing to let him stray too far, but not impossible a task.

"The study group didn't think so." She rubbed her eyes against his sleeve. "They thought the end was a romantic way to go, too. I wouldn't have thought so before. But now I _know_ it's not because of Serenity. It's just...a lot of pain."

A jolt of ice coursed through his veins as his arm tightened around her waist. "What do you mean?"

He could almost hear her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Because of what happened after Endymion? And the sword?" His arm tightened further and only loosened when she squeaked. "You didn't know?"

"No." His voice was barely above a whisper. Endymion's memories ended when his life did, so while he knew Serenity had died he had not known how. And now that he could no longer see the princess without seeing the girl beside him, his throat ached.

Her fingers played along his and her voice was small. "I couldn't do it."

The muscles in his shoulders relaxed as he pressed his forehead between her two buns and his fingers stole between hers. "Good."

"You're not mad?"

"I wouldn't be able to rest if you did, whether it's a few days or years from now."

She could lose the memories of the princess. She could forget her time as Sailor Moon. If either ceased to be, Usako would still be Usako. If she was no longer there, even if the shadow of the other two remained he knew the world would turn as grey and monochrome as his apartment.

She tapped a trapped finger against the back of his hand. "You can't, either."

"Okay."

"I mean it. If you even think about trying, I'll haunt you."

"That's not much of a threat."

"It is when I'd paint your toenails pink when you slept. So don't, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise." That was one he could keep. He was not sure he could promise not to _die_ for her. If he did it was one he would easily be able to break. Several times if need be.

"Good." She settled back down against him and the atmosphere in the room lightened.

"How _many_ years?" Her fingers played along the fine hairs along his arm.

Mamoru shrugged. "One? Five? Fifty? A hundred?" He hummed a little. "More?"

He cheek pressed against his bicep and he could feel her smile on his skin. "What if I'm still klutzy?"

"I'll keep bandages in my pocket. Maybe ones with little characters on them." Then, because she started it, he continued. "What if I'm still an emotionless automaton?"

She jerked a bit before giggling. "What blind idiot told you _that?_"

Her reaction was unexpected and his chest lightened just a fraction. His tone remained casual."Several. Perhaps everyone around here. I've never performed a poll so I don't know the exact number."

She shifted and turned in her seat, staring at him as she gasped. "Juuban's full of blind idiots? Why hasn't anyone seen it earlier?"

His lips twitched with amusement. "Well, they _are_ apparently all blind."

Her nose turned up as she crossed her arms. "And idiots. You're terrible at hiding, so obviously that's what they are."

"Oh, really?" He leaned his elbow against the ledge of the couch back. "And what is it that the only person for miles around with sight see?"

Usako pursed her lips as her head tilted to one side, studying his face with an intensity he had only ever seen in others the days before a final exam. In the end she nodded. "I see Mamo-chan."

It was not something he planned to happen, but her lips were sweet and tasted like cocoa. Endymion had Serenity, Tuxedo Kamen had Sailor Moon, but all Mamoru wanted was Usako. It took him a moment to realize that this was the first time he kissed her first.

-End

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><p><em>P.S. I tried mixing the cocoa and coffee shortly after writing that bit just to see. Either the coffee I have isn't good for it, or the hot cocoa, but it's not something I'll be going out of my way to make any time soon. Even the dollop of vanilla creamer I used to sweeten the bitter didn't really help. Sad face. (I've since been told by my friend who read this for me to try chocolate syrup instead.)<em>


End file.
